challenge

Red Morn — Thursday photo prompt

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 17 Comments

Title: Red Morn
Source:  Thursday photo prompt: Renewal #writephoto
Word count: 404 words

My alarm buzzed, and I swatted the snooze button missing it several times before my fingers found their target. I groaned, pulling the covers over my head. Five more minutes was all I needed. I heard Granddad whistling in the kitchen and I pulled the pillow around my head, hoping to silence him. How was anyone that happy in the morning I wondered?

I drifted, welcoming blissful sleep until my bedroom door burst open and ricocheted off the doorstop. The pine door vibrated from the blow. I didn’t have to peek to know who had ended my quest to delay the start of the day.

“Once more the ruby-colour’d portal open’d, Which to his speech did honey passage yield,” Granddad quoted as I listened to him move across the room to my window.

His voice dropped, to a whisper as he continued, “Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken’d.”

He yanked the first curtain panel open, “Wrack to the seaman,” his voice rose, and his words punctuated his moments. “Tempest to the field,” he flung the second curtain panel open and sunlight streamed into my room.

“Sorrow to shepherds,” he intoned in his most pitiful voice and he crossed the room to my bed.

“Woe unto the birds,” he giggled as he shook me, tugging my covers.

“Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds,” he ended as the blankets escaped my grasp and flew to the end of the bed leaving me and my puppy dog pajamas exposed. It was hard to tell which of us laughed more.

“Granddad you’re insane. What was that?”

“What?” Grandad’s eyes bulged, and his jaw dropped as he right hand clutched his heart. “Surely no grandchild of mine is ignorant of the words of the Great William Shakespeare?” The giant man stood at the foot of my bed, laughter creased his eyes, and he attempted to frown his disapproval.

“Oh,” I stammered and tried to remember something from the bard my granddad loved. “What light through yonder window breaks?” I managed but couldn’t remember the next line.

“By Jove. It is the east, and you, my fair Juliet, are the sun,” Granddad took a step back, and with a grand flourish bowed low over his extended leg.  He stood, smiled at me, then turned to leave the room.

“Pancakes, in five. Don’t miss your cue,” he called over his shoulder and I scrambled to comply.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Artistic Reverie — Weekly Writing Challenge

/ JoHawkTheWriter

Title: Artistic Reverie
Source:  Weekly Writing Challenge #175
The five words: CHARCOAL, SHADE, PALE, WAKE, LUCID
Word count: 220 words

Photo by Jacqueline Day on Unsplash

The charcoal stains my fingers, marking me, convicting me to a labor that consumes me. Working with broad gestures, the blackness swirls, sifting across the large format paper and floating into the air. It settles in my hair, on my clothes, and dances in the gloom.

I blow. My breath lifts a dark cloud and sends it spewing misery wherever it falls. My thumb smudges into the mire, arching along the curving line and creating a homogeneous shade, a sharp contrast against the pale paper.

Pausing, I interrupt my fevered race to behold my creation, if only for an instant. The lingering stillness questions me. Do I wake from my half lucid plight or succumb to its madness?  I close my eyes, feeling emotions coursing through every fiber, my senses heightened, they claw at my throat. Demented wailing pounds upon my skull and shreds my gossamer resolve. My fingers twitch, and they dance to a master I do not know.

Another fluid gesture rips the completed sheet from the pad. The piece flutters, with a lightness that belies the burden it carries as it settles into the land of the forgotten. Pristine bleakness taunts me, coaxes me, concocts hollow promises fed with saccharine lies. In the safety of the siren song, I find shelter from the terror of the light.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Long Game — 3 Line Tales

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 7 Comments

From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words.
You can find the original prompt here. Thank you, Sonya.

photo by Beata Ratuszniak via Unsplash

Alexi mastered his craft, working diligently, he painted every day.

Prints of work by Van Gogh, Ruben, and Klimt sold better than any of his original pieces.

Despite the hardship and the obscurity, he refused to listen to his family and friends, confident that in the end, everyone would remember him.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Buried Treasure — Flash Fiction Challenge

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 7 Comments

Title: Buried Treasure
Source:  Flash Fiction Challenge
Prompt: write a story about a character who looks back.
Word count:  99 words

Photo by Joshua Hoehne on Unsplash

Cal dropped to his knees and gently lifted the book from the debris. Somehow it survived. If he wasn’t cradling in his hands feeling its weight, the caress of its leather cover, he would not have believed it possible.

Clutching the book to his chest, the memories coursed through him. Professor Dugan stood before him, telling Cal the odds were stacked against him ever succeeding. Cal felt defiance surge through him once again. They could laugh and sneer, but they were wrong. Sitting in the rubble Cal felt his destiny waiting.

He would show them how wrong they were.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

River’s Run — Thursday Threads

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 4 Comments

Photo by Michael Browning on Unsplash

River’s eyes flew open.

“River?” Simon scanned her face then checked the monitors.

She yanked off sensors, pulling her IV as she leaped from the exam table and ran to the door.

“What is it?” Simon yelled.

“Reavers,” she called as the door swished open.

Medical instruments clattered to the floor as the ship lurched, rocked by an explosion. Simon stumbled through the doorway. A Reaver slammed him, snarling teeth lunging at his throat. Suddenly, its head twisted violently, and the body crumbled.

River smiled at Simon and ran. Phaser blasts echoed, and Simon heard directions shouted to the crew from Mal, the ship’s captain. River disappeared around a corner.

Rounding the corner, Simon tripped over another dead Reaver. River caught him, whispering, “Run,” before she was off again.

Behind him, Simon saw another Reaver and ran.

The hallway ended with narrow stairs descending into the cargo bay. At the bottom, River swung right, ducking behind a container. Simon tried to follow but the muzzle of Mal’s gun stopped him.

“Mal, what are you doing?”

“You know I‘ll stand for nothing but serenity and bliss on my boat,” Mal said as he took aim and fired.

The shot whizzed past Simon, lodging in the gory, rotting mass of blood and teeth of the Reaver’s head. It’s convulsing body fell into Simon and they tumbled to the floor.

Mal stepped past them to stare at River huddled under the stairs.

“That all of them, Darlin?” he asked.

River nodded.

“For now.”

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

All Aboard — FFfAW

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 3 Comments

Title: All Aboard
Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Word count: 175 words

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Akshata Ram. Thank you, Akshata!

Ricky slammed the door, dropped his backpack with a bang and raced to the basement.

“Whoa,” he said, skidding to a stop before the model he and Gramps had started during his holiday break.

Smoke billowed from the shiny black stack of the train sitting at the depot. In the town, lights twinkled, and tiny figures walked the streets. The train whistle blasted, shattering the ice crystals that coated every surface. Startled, Ricky jumped, running for the train. It couldn’t leave without him. He sprinted across the wooden platform and leaped into the cab as the fireman blasted the whistle once more.

“I’m here,” Ricky yelled, and the old man released the cord.

“About damn time. You gonna drive or what?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m driving,” Ricky grabbed the lever and pushed. The engine’s wheels spun on the iron rail, sparks spewed, and the boiler puffed.

“Slow. You gotta get traction first,” his fireman counseled.

Ricky eased back, the engine chugged, the wheels caught, and they were on their way as the first snowflakes fell.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Was Blind — Friday Fictioneers

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 40 Comments

Title: Was Blind
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

PHOTO PROMPT © Russell Gayer

Rosie lived inside a Wall she couldn’t see until the stranger sat in her booth.

“How do you do it?” he asked.

“Do what?” Rosie tucked the pencil behind her ear and stuffed the order pad in her pocket.

“Live with the Wall,” he said, as he turned to look outside. “Aren’t you claustrophobic?”

Rosie followed his gaze.

“Coffee?” he prodded.

She remembered nothing else about him. The Wall followed her now, lurking outside windows, looming over buildings, creeping forward to clutch her throat with knobby fingers.

Rosie planned, engineered her freedom, fearing what would happen if she didn’t escape.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Let Go — #MenageMonday

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 9 Comments

Title: Let Go
Source:  #MenageMonday Challenge
Word count: 290 words

Dreamstime, source

“You’re not really going to do this? Are you Daryl?”

I closed my eyes and wished for him to be silent.

“You know I’m not going anywhere. I can’t. Especially when you’re being stupid.”

I sighed.

“Daryl? Say something.”

“You know I have to try to save her. You heard her. The fate of the world is at stake.”

“Jesus, you bought that? Honestly, the only thing she is going to do is get you killed. Get me killed. She is a dark, twisted bitch.”

“But she is part of me just like you are. Besides, what if it’s true?” My words were barely audible as they left my lips. The rain pelted on the umbrella I held over my head and I wondered why people bothered to use them. My pants and shoes were soaking wet.

“Get over it, Daryl. Why do you always have to know the reason behind every little thing?”

“When have I ever steered us wrong?” I asked.

“Well… There was the time…”

“Shut up. Other than that one time?” There was a long silence as I waited for a response.

“Okay then. Can you trust me this one last time?”

“See? See? Even you think we are going to die. Admit it, Daryl. She’s sent you to your death. Our death.”

I had no words for him. He was most likely right. My gut knew I was the only one with the right skills. The only one who had a fighting chance of pushing back the light.

Lightening crackled over the House of Leaves and I shivered.

“Daryl?”

I pushed the other Daryl from my mind.

The die was cast, the path lay before me. It was up to me to end the game.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Silver Lining — Thursday photo prompt

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 18 Comments

Title: Silver Lining
Source:  Thursday photo prompt: Clouds #writephoto
Word count: 230 words

the image shows the sun behind the bare branches of winter trees in a blue sky darkened by clouds.

Jessie raced outside, stopping to shove her feet into her shoes before letting the door slam behind her. At the end of the driveway, she realized she her coat was inside. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going back. She was never going back.

The icy wind knifed through her wool sweater, finding the spaces in the closely knit fabric. Jessie pulled the sweater closed around her neck and remembered what she left in her hasty exit.

Her coat was one, she thought and shivered. There were clothes in the bedroom closet, her favorite pair of jeans among them. She hated leaving them, and the toiletries in the bathroom.

Jessie stopped suddenly, grasping at her throat, her fingers probing until she touched the sterling silver chain.  She wound her fingers around the chain, tugging the pendant free. She clutched it in her fist and closed her eyes. Thank God she thought.

Jessie heaved a sigh of relief, tucked it under her shirt, and continued walking. There was more, she knew, but she didn’t want to think about that yet. Jessie wondered if she could block it forever.

She glanced around to determine how far she had come and which way she needed to go. She blinked as the sun struggled to escape its gray shroud. A thin ray touched her face and Jessie smiled. She knew exactly where she was going.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Undying Love — Friday Fictioneers

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 21 Comments

Title: Undying Love
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words

goats_and_graves

PHOTO PROMPT © Randy Mazie

Javier sat on the cemetery wall, checking his list, and tried to ignore the bleating goat.  He promised Alma he would follow her instructions tonight and he couldn’t disappoint her. Long ago, he had pledged his love and swore to protect her with his life. She said it would never come to that.

That night the cemetery lay shrouded in eerie silence. The full moon illuminated the goat and voodoo relics swimming in a pool of blood on the discarded marble slab.

Javier knelt, marveling at Alma’s pale skin sparkling in the wan light and raised her from her slumber.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer